


Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

by AnnaofAza



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Typical worries about the future post-college panic, also they love each other, i was an English major i'm ALLOWED, yes i used a cliche AF robert frost poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22357939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: Bitty gets two choices. He has to make one.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 11
Kudos: 121





	Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scandalmuss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scandalmuss/gifts).



“I got it!”

“What’d you get? What’d you get?” Chowder demands.

Bitty waves the embossed paper in the air like a victory flag. “I got into the culinary school!”

It had been on a whim while searching for jobs with his American Studies (with an emphasis in Food Culture, his resume bleats hopefully) degree. To be honest, he hasn’t thought about what he was doing until he got an alert from Samwell to apply for graduation.

There’s, of course, teaching, but that meant going for a certificate for the lower grades or a Master’s (and, to be realistic, a PhD). There’s also business (probably not), politics (definitely no), marketing or public relations (eh), and, as Forbes statistics suggest, retail or pursuing a higher degree (dear Lord).

He’s always dreamed of opening a bakery, and knew the basics—collateral, location, and employees—but that all didn’t matter without money.

But this—a full-ride to one of the top culinary institutes in the country, with opportunities to study in Paris, the capital of baking, and apprentice under some of the greatest chefs in the nation.

This is a _chance._

“I have to sit down. No,” he says, immediately jolting to his feet, “I’m going to _bake._ Who wants pie?”

* * *

Bitty rides the high of his acceptance letter throughout the week. He bakes a truly ridiculous amount of pies, so much that the team decides to organize an impromptu bake sale to get rid of them. He goes around with such a big smile on his face that at least seven people ask him if he’s high or “got some.” He even gets checked during practice, nearly flying off into the boards, and still sails on sunnily.

And meanwhile, he looks up apartments and dorms and rooms, connects with the school’s social media, even takes a picture against a blank wall for his new student ID. Of course, there’s money needed for a roof over his head and food on the table, but he gets even more good news: a graduate assistantship _with_ pay and insurance. They liked his entrance essay, his experience in leadership, his need for money, whatever—he could dance a jig! 

He calls Jack, of course, then his parents, who spread it along the Georgia grapevine, pacing in his socks like it’s the first time hearing the news all over. He drops the news in the group chat, with Ransom and Holster and Lardo and Shitty each offering to throw a big shebang in celebration.

He peppers it in daily conversations—and the more realer and realer it feels—

And then, he gets a call right in the middle of changing out of his gear.

* * *

Bitty’s about to let it go to voicemail—who even calls these days?—when he notices the contact name.

“What’s wrong?” he asks—leg half out of his pants, skate laces partially untied, Falconers boxers he’d gotten from Mashkov as a joke bared to the locker room. “Did something happen with Jack?”

“This does have a little to do with him, but no. This is all about you. Are you free to grab coffee this weekend? I’m in the area.”

“Sure,” Bitty says, once his heart rate slows. He hashes out some tentative times between hockey practice and classes and his usual Skype call with Jack, occasionally shrugging one shoulder and raising his _hell if I know_ eyebrows whenever his teammates give him curious looks.

“What’s up?” Whiskey asks when Bitty hangs up.

Bitty shrugs, bemused. “Guess George wants to talk to me,” he says, then steps out of his pants.

* * *

He shows up at the diner with a slice of leftover maple apple pie and his best jacket, the one he wears to all hockey ceremonies and graduations. The usual corner booth where he and Jack’s seat is taken, so they slide into one near the window, with students strolling by with headphones and the occasional jogger. They order lunch, chat for a while, and just as Bitty’s leaning back in his seat and thinking about ordering a muffin to go, George leans forward.

“We want to sign you.”

We. Sign. You.

It echoes his head almost the same length as “Hold Up” before he gasps out, “The Providence Falconers want to sign _me_?”

George picks up her spoon, gives her coffee a little stir. “Yes,” she says calmly.

“But…” Bitty flounders. “I...I’m not—”

“Hey. You progressed at an amazing rate; you came from a figure skating background, yes, but those two sports are completely different. Before? You only played in small teams, no checking. Your potential was off the charts before you were captain.” George puts down her spoon, folds her hands. “We’ve come to your games and talked to your coaches. You played amazingly well with one of our co-captains. You even have social media presence. You’re _good,_ Bittle.”

He still can’t believe it. “Uh. Wow. Okay.” Then, she mentions a number, and he thinks he’s definitely, definitely in a dream. Or a prank show. “Okay. That’s a lot of money.”

“Think about it,” George says, and calls for the check.

* * *

“Did you know?” he asks, right in the middle of date night.

Jack sits up on the bed, pausing the documentary they’re watching. “What?”

“Did you know that George was approaching me to play with the Providence Falcons?”

“No,” Jack says faintly. “I didn’t. Are you…?” He’s studying Bitty’s face now, joy and excitement turning to caution. “What are you thinking?”

For one wild minute, Bitty sees his future play out like a movie: him signing the contract; him stepping into the locker room and seeing Jack pacing around and muttering ten different strategies; him moving into Jack’s apartment with the piled-up quilts and big kitchen; him and Jack speeding together, side-by-side, stopping with sharp sprays of powdered ice.

It’s almost _easy_. It’s perfect, really. Bitty imagines eating at a proper sit-down dinner at the kitchen table, bumping hips with Jack while making breakfast. He’s really going to miss Samwell when he graduates: the team, the frogs, the ice, the quad. He might even miss the Epikegsters. With the Falconers, he doesn’t jump in with both feet, completely cold and blind and scared.

But he’s never really thought about hockey the way Jack does, even now.

Bitty’s always wanted to bake.

“I don’t know,” he says.

There’s a long pause. “Oh,” Jack says.

“I _want_ to be with you,” Bitty quickly says. “I just—”

He knows, though, that Jack’s anxiety takes these words and twists them into weapons: _I don’t want you. I don’t love you._

Words tangle in his own throat. He’s coasted through undergrad with a major he’s not sure he’ll use. He’s been knocked down on the field and ice and metaphorically, and worried over each change to what he thought was an untouchable life of his own.

But when he’s in the kitchen, he feels _right._ Always has. Before there was hockey. Before there was Jack. Before everything.

Netflix is unpaused. The movie plays on. And both of them remain sitting, more space between them than in a while.

* * *

The first option is safe and cozy and domestic: Bitty gets back on the ice again with Jack. They’ll both live in Providence together. On the off-season, they could stay in Providence, visit Jack’s parents in Montreal, or drop in on Bitty’s family in Georgia.

The second option is rife with uncertainties and distance: Bitty goes to New York after college, studies for a few years, and opens a restaurant or bakery.

But he wants this. He wants this more than anything he’s wanted in his life, now that it’s in reach. And he’s no longer the scared freshman scared of someone brushing against him on the ice and barely able to think, let alone say out loud, he was gay. No longer the same person content to pretend he and Jack were just teammates, just friends. No longer afraid to voice his opinions, his fears, his insecurities, instead of letting them all pass by turning to the nearest oven with a smiling face.

He can _do_ this. He can be brave.

His Moo Maw told him, long ago, to never drop everything to follow a girl. (The same, Bitty thinks, still applies to boys.) But this is different.

It comes together, so simply, so precisely. Why should it be one way or nothing? Hockey or baking? Jack or his future? Why not both, existing in the same world? 

_Go. Be brave._

* * *

He calls Jack, ready to tell him everything—he loves him, they can be their best, they can try—but the next thing Jack says takes all the words out of his mouth.

“Bits. I think you should go to New York.”

At first, it doesn’t register. “…What?”

Jack’s voice is quiet. “I mean, whatever decision you make…I just want to let you know that I’ve got your back. Like I always do.” He looks down. “I, uh, talked to Shitty. My parents. And I—I’ll miss you a lot. But we’ve weathered worse and I’m willing to try if you still want and I love you—”

It’s certainly not the first time Bitty’s heard it, but once he does, it’s another piece locking into place. “I love you,” Jack repeats. “I love you so much.” 

Bitty can only say one thing in response, truer than anything he’s said in his life: “I love you, too.”

There’s a moment in the resulting silence—significant and heavy with a future that neither of them have talked about yet but is as inevitable as coffee in the morning, as ice folding underneath blades, as kisses before bed.

Of course he’s thought about it—rings on each of their hands. A house of their own. Joint family vacations.

For now, though, Bitty says goodbye—knowing it won’t be the last time—and hangs up with a heavy sigh and a fluttery tap dance in his chest.

He’s going. He’s going to New York.

And whatever the future holds, he can make it.

**Author's Note:**

> It's all...coming to an end soon. I'm going to cry, but I love their journey so much.


End file.
